Sunday, November 29, 2009

"A thousand butterflies from your lips to mine"Kiss of Life - Friendly Fires

Three weeks ago I was out with a friend discussing bands we wish we could see live. I was vehement that Friendly Fires should tour with The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and come to Florida.

Three days later I got an invite to a VIP party for designer Fred Perry at which Friendly Fires were doing a private show in NYC.

I had a week to get a flight and get there. No one else could drop everything togo with me, even though I had comped plane tickets as well. I have friends and familyin NYC, I used to live there, but no one could go! Solo SHE.

The first person I saw upon entering was the actor Judah Friedlander. That and the open bar indicated to me that this would be at the very least, interesting.

I met loads of cool people including this awesome chick who is a mortician by day and a burlesque dancer by night. Oh yeah, she'll have a book out at some point. I had front and center for a f'excellent performance and got to meet the FF singer after. His face redefines male beauty and he was super nice, yet I wasn't attracted to him (as if he gives a fuck). Weird.

(click to enlarge)Me w FF in the background. That dude with the camo undies behind me had BAD B.O.! Cab driver worthy.

I had a blast but couldn't get too trashed as that was the early part of the evening. I had to head to Soho for drinks with someone else after, and then I met these gorgeous girls that were DJ's from South America so I took them to a club where a friend of mine spins - more free drinks, yeesh. I became a vodka filter.

Next night I hung out with rock legend Lenny Kaye (google him you clueless fucks) and my friend Tom who is a legend himself. Somewhere there is footage of me playing bass with those two and Jeff Buckley at a Thanksgiving party in Brooklyn when I was just a young SHE. I'm not allowed to have it for reasons unknown =(

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

The Tuesday before Halloween, my favorite holiday, I attended a masquerade martini party that was “invite only”, but there were people I didn’t know there; people with masks on.

I made my mask (above) deciding to go with a sort of white peacock with pronounced cleavage look (or mispronounced if that’s not your thing – you’d be surprised eh em).

My bestie and I stuck together on the two for one martinis, splitting as we went. Even though she can outdrink me 4 to 1, she was trying to slow her roll a bit. We both are conscious about not becoming “unconscious” drinkers.

Bestie placed a Black Dahlia in front of my feathered face and said we were sharing this LAST one, then we engaged in conversations with others.

Very soon after, I felt odd. I remember chatting with this one girl about bad kissers (see previous post) and then this guy kept kissing up on me that I didn’t know. I pushed him away and he said something to the effect of “Oh, you’re not ready yet”.

At the time, nothing made sense. I recall my friend who likes to fight getting into that guy’s face, telling him to back off of me. He plays for one of these Tampa sports franchises, so his intimidating build coupled with about 7 martinis and flaring, overconfident nostrils frightened the smoochy guy into exiting.

Everyone thought Bestie and I were just really wasted, and I was so out of it, I didn’t know what to think. That’s when the “barfs” hit. Bestie and I were in parallel stalls ralphing in tandem. Harmonized puking - the stomach song that has no words, just notes that distort your mouth and expel forcefully into the plumbing (with proper aim).

We never get sick from drink. I drank twice the amount at the same party the month before and was fine. Bestie is a pro, this upchucking was not her M.O. EVER, and I haven’t yakked from a drink since the last century.

We had been drugged. Luckily, it was the drink we shared so we had split the “Mickey”, if you will, and weren’t as bad off as we could’ve been, though we didn’t piece it together till the next day.

I’ve heard the horror stories from girls (and some guys too), but I had thought I was in a safe place. In many respects I was, as nothing happened, or did it?

Who knows what that shit did to my liver or something squishy and vital to my existence? I can still remember the Pythagorean Theorem today, but what if I can’t tomorrow? (As if knowing it at all changes anything.)

Scary when you think about what COULD happen. Makes me want to have a drink, but not a martini fo sho.